


A Costume Party

by sassenachpetals



Category: Addams Family (TV 1964), Addams Family - All Media Types, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon, The Addams Family (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Fluff, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Love, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 12:08:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21253160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassenachpetals/pseuds/sassenachpetals
Summary: Jamie and Claire ring in the Halloween holiday by attending a costume party.  Claire has surprised Jamie with their couple costume idea and it's one that they'll never forget: Gomez and Morticia Addams...





	A Costume Party

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the amazing artwork of Vera Adxer (find her on Twitter and Instagram), "The Fraser Family Values." https://www.instagram.com/p/B4I-TNSBKtQ/?utm_source=ig_web_button_share_sheet
> 
> Thank you to @HappyObserve for the idea and encouragement! This is for all of us who want some fluffy, in-love, smitten (slightly NSFW) Frasers. :) Enjoy and Happy Halloween! Stay safe, kids!

Jamie Fraser sat typing away on his laptop. The clicking of the keys served as a staccato rhythm for his thoughts as he responded to the last problematic emails of the workday. Thankfully, today was Friday. Thankfully, it was almost 5 o’clock. And thankfully, he could work from home most days. Being that the distillery was his—or rather, his family’s—he had the flexibility that most 9-to-5’ers did not.

Pausing, he took a sip of tea—another perk of working from home—appreciating the warm bite of it as it glided down his throat and glanced around the kitchen where he sat. It was usually pristine, per his own obsessive vice, but traces of his wife’s latest baking endeavor still existed. Flour dusting the edge of the counters, gone unnoticed before now. Drops of pumpkin bread batter still speckled the granite. And the dirty dishes still sat piled in the stainless steel sink. Claire was not known for her impeccable clean-up skills unless it came to her work as a surgeon. She could stitch up a double bypass with swift efficiency and minimal mess, but couldn’t be bothered when baking pumpkin bread apparently.

The corner of his mouth lifted in a grin as his mind once again drifted away from the emails before him and back to the scene two hours ago: her nimble hands sloppily cracking the eggs and stirring the batter. Her hair pulled up and out of her face as she baked, though stubborn tendrils had fought free from their restraints. She’d used the back of her stirring hand to brush them out of her face, leaving a trail of flour on her cheek. But she’d successfully baked the bread–despite the best attempts of their sweet kitten, Adso, to distract her–and a slice of it was sitting beside his computer as he typed.

She was a mess. But she was his mess.

“Are you ready?” came Claire’s voice mere inches from his ear.

“_Ah Dhia—“ _he bit out, almost spilling his tea over the keyboard of his device. Adso, who'd been resting peacefully and uninterrupted on the counter next to Jamie, shot up in a bolt, hair standing on end, and scurried away with a grumble. Jamie could have sworn he saw the kitten shoot Claire an accusatory look. “Christ, Sassenach, ye scared me.”

“Mmm, sorry,” she mumbled against his neck, placing a kiss there.

“No, you’re not,” he said with a smirk.

“You’re right. I’m not.” She glanced at the laptop curiously. “You done?”

“S’pose,” he said, shutting the screen. The emails were taken care of, more or less, and the rest could wait until Monday.

“Good.” She hopped into his lap, the weight of her settling comfortably, and immediately his hands wrapped around her waist—a movement that had become so natural to him as to almost be second nature. Having met three years prior and married almost a year ago, he couldn’t imagine a life without her and he was ashamed at how long it took for them to find each other.

“I’ve missed ye, _mo nighean donn,”_ he said, brushing her hair out of her face. Jamie hadn’t seen much of her recently. Claire had picked up a few extra shifts the last couple of weeks and it was taking a toll on her.

“It has been a long week,” Claire sighed, a tinge of the exhaustion she must be feeling coloring her voice. “But…”

Glancing up at her, he saw whisky eyes dancing with a smile. She was practically energized with electricity, bursting to tell him something. “Are you ready for the big reveal?” she asked brightly.

He cocked his head. “Reveal?” His mind raced with what she could be referring to…

“For tonight. It’s the 31st, remember?”

A small groan escaped his lips, even as his amusement rose. “Och aye, yer party.”

“_My_ party, is it?”

“Aye, yer party. Ye ken fine well I’d be just as content to stay home and rest with ye, watch a scary movie, and have yer round arse at my--” He ran his hands down her hips, but she swatted at his hands.

“It’s Halloween, James Fraser,” she said sternly. “We have to celebrate!”

“I’m no’ arguing wi’ ye, lass. I gave ye my word we’d go, and so we shall.” He knew how much she enjoyed Halloween. One of the first stories he’d learned about her childhood had been about her Halloween traditions. Her Uncle Lamb would design elaborate costumes, usually historical in nature, and give her a backstory for her trick-or-treat escapades. They were fond memories, he knew, and he’d intended to uphold the tradition, though she’d told him she had something a little different in mind this year.

“Glad to see your sense of duty compels you,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Because…” she hopped down off his lap and disappeared briefly into the living room, her brown curls bobbing in her ponytail. When she returned her hands were behind her back, hiding something from view, and she was positively bouncing up and down now. Jamie smiled at her enthusiasm. He had to admit as much as he disliked the holiday, he did love seeing her so charged with excitement, cheeks flushed with a permanent smile. 

He crossed his arms. “What costumes did ye pick, then? Let’s see.”

“I’ll give you one clue.” She cocked her hip, went serious as death, and snapped her fingers twice, giving him a glare that sent chills down his spine. Then she revealed the objects she’d had behind her back. _She didn’t…_he thought.

* * *

I felt an unreasonable amount of pride and giddy joy when I saw my husband’s slanted eyes turn into saucers and his jaw drop. In a flash, his face broke into a wide smile at the costumes I now revealed in front of me.

A sleek, matte black dress with a deep V-cut and a black and grey pinstriped suit. A midnight wig hung on the dress’ hanger and from the suit hung a small bag containing hair dye and a black mustache.

I hadn’t expected him to recognize them so quickly. 

“Sassenach…” Jamie trailed off, his grin growing impossibly bigger. “How’d ye ken to get these?”

“Just a guess. You like them?” I asked, slightly surprised.

“Aye, I love them! I grew up watching the _Addams Family_ re-runs, the remakes, ye name it.” He was out of the chair now and wrapping me in a hug, costumes and all squished against his solid form and strong arms. He placed a passionate kiss on my lips, from which I pulled back.

I _tisked_ at him. “Save that for later,” I said, in my huskiest Morticia Addams voice, which earned me a chuckle from Jamie.

“Ah, _si_,” he said, fluidly slipping into a sophisticated Spanish accent. “As you say, my angel of death.” He followed it up with a wink. Or what was supposed to be a wink. But the owlish blink of his eyes ruined the sultry moment, and I found myself giggling without restraint.

“Are you laughing at me?” he asked, still attempting the suave Spaniard bit.

“Yes.” I poked his chest. “I am.”

Handing him his suit and accessories, I ushered him off to change in the guest bathroom, while I got ready in our bedroom. 

* * *

A time later, I had slipped into the form fitting dress, finished my ghostly makeup, and carefully fitted the wig over my tamed curls. I wasn’t able to fully zip the dress, finding my range of motion rather limited, but was certain Jamie wouldn’t mind helping me with that. I was just finishing off the pale and deeply contoured look with the blood-red swash of lipstick when I heard a knock on the door.

“Sassenach?”

He was done changing. Taking a breath, I opened the door simultaneously slinking through it and leaning against the frame. Frozen in my hopefully sultry pose, I took the opportunity to admire Jamie in his costume. I had to swallow hard against the jumping of my stomach at the sight of him.

The suit fit him somehow impossibly well. How did a store-bought costume look so tailored and perfect on him? His sculpted frame was evident through the shoulder pads of the sleeves and slim cut of the trousers, boasting his athleticism. His broad chest filled the lines of the coat, beckoning me to lay my head against its spot on his shoulder just so. He’d even applied the dark hair dye and mustache to complete the look, slicking back his curls. The sleek jet-black suited his complexion almost as much as the ruddy copper I was used to seeing. I was as grateful he’d loved the costume as I was turned on.

As my gaze settled on Jamie’s face, I watched him drink me in from my black heels up the painted-on dress to my décolletage and finally coming to rest on my face. I knew he could read every thought held there.

His striking blue eyes were holding mine, flitting back and forth between good humor and something darker, which I registered briefly as arousal. I smiled, pleased at this, but found myself suddenly very bashful. The dress was, by far, the tightest and most revealing thing I’d ever worn.

I huffed nervously to break the palpable, heavy tension and crossed my arms defensively. Clearing my throat I said, “How does it look?” I hated the tremor in my voice.

I watched his face once again shift to something softer. “Christ, ye look like a heart attack, lass. Yer the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Morticia cannae hold a candle to ye.” Without being asked, he slid the zipper up the rest of the way before backing away again to look at me.

I laughed, shifting my stance and pulling a bit at the fabric enclosing my hips in a cocoon. We had been married less than a year and it is true what they say: the year post-wedding, with all its comforts, often brings a few pounds with it. There’d been many a night of indulgence in decadent food with Jamie and, under his intense gaze, I was suddenly aware of every roll and lump on my body. “I have another dress I bought just in case. This one is a little tight; I don’t know that I’ll be able to dance and you can see everything—“ I began a little uncertainly.

“Claire, ye are perfect to me, no matter what ye look like.” The tone of his voice caused my heart to beat faster and my slight insecurity began to diminish. “Though ye look like a dream just now—or a nightmare,” he abridged with a double-eyed wink.

I laughed to clear my throat and fixed him with a look. “Are you sure you still want to go?”

“Och, aye. It’ll be fun. Ye’ve been looking forward tae it for months. And besides, Sassenach, it gives me an excuse to fawn over ye.” He gathered my face in his hands, brushing the wig out of my eyes, and I felt my knees buckle slightly as he leaned in for a kiss, his eyes glinting something playful.

“I want to _rrrr_-avish you right here and now, _mi corazón_. But—“ he placed a finger on my lips, which I’d presented brazenly for him. My eyes widened at being denied a kiss. He smirked mischievously. “I would never treat my _queen_ that way. Yet.”

He stepped away, still holding my hand and gallantly placed a hand on his chest as he bowed. The Spanish accent was impeccable and I vaguely wondered at how well he did it before my mind came to rest on his word: _yet_. My breath caught at that connotation.

_Smug Scot_, I thought, my lips burning for his.

“Shall we to the carriage?” he asked, swiping up the car keys from the table by the door. He crooked his arm in offering.

“We shall,” I hummed playfully, my voice dropping the octave necessary to mimic Morticia, determined as I was to play along for the evening. I hooked my arm in his and we were off into the chilly Edinburgh night air.

* * *

Geillis Duncan was an old friend from pre-med, as well as one of the nurses in my ward. She was notorious for throwing elaborate parties, most notably of which was her Halloween Bash. I’d had the date circled on my calendar for months. Thrilled to finally be arriving with Jamie in tow—and an enthusiastic Jamie, at that—I led him as quickly as I could up the path to her front door. Living in the suburbs had its perks, I thought as I glanced around her home: large premises for parking, spacious room for guests, and a front lawn to be decorated with plentiful spider webs, ghouls, and graves.

I’d barely reached the front door when it swung open to reveal the host in a lusciously embroidered, richly constructed 18th century French courtier gown. The dress was flowery and covered inch-by-inch in frill and lace. I was slightly disappointed to see her usual fiery red waves were hidden under a braided tower of a wig standing above even Jamie’s height. Her heavily powdered face and narrowed eyes broke out in a smile, brightly blushed cheeks round as ever, when she recognized us.

“Claire!” Geillis exclaimed, her icy eyes roamed up and down my costume before doing the same to Jamie. She flashed us yet another devil-may-care smile. “And her wee fox cub! I hardly recognized ye. Come in, already!”

She took each of us by the wrist and practically yanked us into the fray. Immediately, we were assaulted by the heavy _thump_ of a bass blasting Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.” _Rather on the nose_, I thought despite the huge grin on my face and involuntary bobbing my head was doing in time to the beat.

The house was already chalk-full of guests in garb ranging from home-made, last minute cats and devils to more elaborate werewolves, time-traveling men with a box, and a fair share of _Princess Bride_ inspired get-ups. I hardly noticed where Geillis was towing us, before she’d shoved two full glasses of champagne in our hands and sat, leaning against her kitchen counter. Her large panniers and bum roll served to create a silhouette almost as wide as the counter itself.

“To the best holiday of the year!” she cheered, raising her glass in celebration. We all clinked glasses and took a sip. Swiftly finishing her glass, Geillis stage-whispered with a wink, “Ye’ll have to meet Mark! He makes a handsome Louis XV.”

I smiled at the thought of meeting the one-night stand who had quickly turned into more for my friend. “I’d love to, Geillie.”

“And ye make a bonny couple, costumes or no,” she shouted over the din. Her eyes darted playfully between us. Geillis had been our biggest supporter when we’d first started dating. She’d introduced us after attending a tasting at Jamie’s distillery where she’d met him and been convinced we were a match. She was proud of the role she’d played in our finding each other, but was always quick to add if I ever tired of Jamie, she’d be more than happy to take him off my hands—a true martyr.

“It was all Claire’s idea, ye ken,” Jamie supplied, his hand finding my waist as he beamed proudly. “She did a wonderful job finding the costumes.”

“Who are ye?” Geillis asked blankly, looking us up and down. 

“Do you no’ know--?!” Jamie started, his blue eyes widening in shock. Then, he shook his head in disbelief and slipped into the Spanish accent. “May I present to you, my corpse bride, _cara mia_, Morticia Addams?” 

I bowed and placed a hand on his shoulder. “And my dear, deathly husband, Gomez.”

Geillis purred a giggle. Then, an idea dawning, she gasped. “Ye two should enter the costume contest! Mark and I are entering and we’d love some stiff competition b’fore we win. I may no’ have recognized ye, but the crowd may ken who ye are.” She winked.

“Maybe we will. I rather like that idea,” I laughed, with a glance at Jamie.

He nodded, squeezing my waist, which caused me to giggle. “I’d be proud to represent John Astin, Raul Julia, Nathan Lane, and all other Gomez’s before me,” he said with a gracious bow. His dramatics made me smile even as I whacked his shoulder playfully. 

“Now you’re just showing off! I guess you weren’t kidding when you said you grew up on the _Addams Family_,” I teased with a poke to his ribs. To Geillis, I remarked, “He’s been pulling out all the stops.”

Jamie puffed out his chest and fixed me with an affronted expression. “I am a man of my word, Morticia! Did you doubt me,_ mi luna_?” He winked—or blinked—again at me. 

“Never, _mon sauvage_,” I answered, taking a hold of his lapels.

“Oh, my love, my queen of darkness,” he practically growled, faking a bite to my ear before taking me in a passionate embrace and kissing me breathless. We broke apart to an amused Geillis watching with a twist in her lips. I knew my neck was probably flushed, but I didn’t quite care. Being with Jamie had quickly cured me of most of my hesitation with public displays of affection. 

“Weel,” Geillis said, her eyes sparkling with trouble as she crossed her arms, “if ye keep that up, Mark and I may have no choice but tae suggest suggest a _ménage a tois_.”

I laughed. “Only _tois_? And which of us would you take?” 

“Och,” she winked dismissively at me, “Actually, I may just leave Mark behind and have ye both to myself. Now, if ye’ll excuse me…” Geillis flitted out of the kitchen, another glass of champagne in her hand, to greet Mark who had just appeared at the base of her stairs in a matching powdered wig and equally frivolous court costume.

I threw a side-glance to Jamie, who was shaking his head, and saw his black moustache quirked upwards in a smirk.

* * *

The rest of the party consisted of some dancing, mingling with the other nurses and surgeons in our hospital, and, of course, the costume contest. Unsurprisingly, Geillis and Mark won. Jamie and I took second, which seemed to please Jamie more than I thought it would. He was enjoying this rare outing—my work at the hospital had kept me thoroughly exhausted and absent recently—and disappeared to chat with Joe Abernathy and his wife while Geillis introduced me to Mark. I was glad to see Jamie still fit in comfortably chatting with my colleagues, especially as dear a friend as Joe.

Notably, Jamie didn’t slip out of character once the entire evening, Gomez Addams to the core. He would introduce me to others as his “beautiful corpse bride, Morticia” and I shot back with “_mon cher_” and “my ecstasy” readily. But as the night wore on, we were both tiring of the constant noise and socialization. Throughout the event, we slowly drifted closer and closer, less willing to separate. 

Soon, we’d had our fill of fun for the night and the clock was approaching midnight. He yawned beside me in the quiet corner we’d found away from the loudest of the noise.

“Tired, my turtle dove?” I asked, running a hand along his stubble.

He grinned sleepily. “A bit,” he answered. The most out-of-character he’d been all evening, I noted.

“I’m ready if you are. I have a feeling this party will last well into the night. And as much as I love the dark of night, my darling, I am ready to go to bed.”

“To bed?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Or to sleep?”

“Well…” I responded suggestively, aglow at the grin he gave me just then. 

With that, we said our goodbyes and thanked Geillis for the invite. As we were leaving, Geillis again shouted out her offer for a communal tryst and I had to roll my eyes. Yes, the party would go well into the night judging by how wasted she was. Monday morning would come as a shock to her system, no doubt. But then, Geillis was used to these long-winded soirees. 

The car ride home was quiet. Jamie had refrained from alcohol in order to drive us home and I was grateful, as the champagne and cocktails had left me warm and pleasantly buzzed. The lights passing through the window lulled me into a light sleep until I felt the car stop and the engine shut off. Jamie was quickly at my door, opening it for me, and we walked arm-in-arm up to our front door and into our living room. I collapsed on the couch to remove my heels while Jamie adjusted the thermostat and turned on the light.

“Have fun, my macabre love?” he asked, kissing me.

“Mmm,” I said, accepting the warmth of his lips on mine. “I’m very impressed with your act, Jamie. You kept it up all night.”

“What act, Tish?” He began rubbing my feet and I groaned as my muscles relaxed in his hands. I closed my eyes. “I cannot help but sing your praises.”

“Tish? That’s a new one.”

In my sleepy stupor, my brain jostled at the next sounds out of his mouth. To my amazement—and horror—Jamie began to sing. It would have been a sweet sight—his hand raised in dramatics, his brow furrowed in earnest concentration, and the lyrics themselves rather romantic—if he were not the most tone-deaf creature on the planet. 

> _“Morticia, Morticia, the name alone is gold!_
> 
> _It speaks of death and labored breath, not fears of growing old.”_

_“_Jamie, no! I love you, but no!” I sought to silence him with more kisses, but he swerved out of reach. He grinned, that stupid smirk plastered across his face.

“From the musical,” he stated matter-of-factly, as if the main objection I had to his song was not knowing what it was from. Then he was back to singing:

> “_If I could stop the clock right now and make a simple wish…”_

Uncontrollably, I was giggling and swiped lazily at his face, but leaned back when I missed, resigned.

> _“The only wish that I would wish is: Tish, Tish, Tiiiish!”_

I rolled my eyes, then. “You bloody Scot.” It was his turn to chuckle as I raised a hand to his face. “Thank you, Jamie. For tonight.”

A stillness descended on him and he fixed me with a dark gaze, his blue eyes turning to a deep shade of indigo. His smile stopped me in my tracks.

“It was my honor, my dear. You bewitch me, _querida_. You set my body on fire like our ancestors in Salem. You bury me alive in your passion where I suffocate in your love. My soul eternally at rest in your face.” I felt his hands begin to move up my ankle, calf, and beyond my knee all the while kneading the muscles like putty and holding my gaze intently. 

Suddenly, he’d closed the distance between us, making any words trying to form catch in my throat. He helped me to my feet, took my hand, and slowly raised it to his lips, placing a kiss there.

Those blue eyes looked up into mine, not a trace of humor in them, the smallest crows’ feet beginning to show at the edges. My stomach did a flip. How I loved those eyes.

“_Cara mia._” A kiss on my wrist. 

“_Mon cher,_” I responded, suddenly inspired once again to keep up our bit.

“_Mi amor_.” A kiss on my forearm.

“_Mon sauvage_,” I answered.

“My light,” he whispered into the crook of my elbow, placing a kiss there with more urgency. My breath was shallow and quick, unable to look away from him.

“My darkness,” I answered.

His lips traveled up my bicep before reaching my shoulder, where they suddenly stopped. Once again, his eyes were locked onto mine. Those eyes that held me in safety were gazing deeply into my heart. I waited, breathlessly, for what he said next. 

“Unhappy darling?” he grinned.

“Oh, yes,” I answered.

“Do you love me?” 

“Like the plague,” I growled, suddenly latching onto the dark curls still covered in hair dye at the base of his neck. “I want you, _mon amour_.”

“And I want you,” he purred, “with your dress cut down to…Venezuela. And your skin pale as death.”

I fixed him with one last commanding look. “_Je suis prest_.”

“Oh, darling, that’s French,” he quoted with a smirk. I knew he was proud of the Addams knowledge he’d been displaying all evening for me which only served to warm my heart further. Then, his thick Scottish brogue was back, setting my senses aflame.

“Now, give me yer mouth, Sassenach.”

The floodgates were open at this point and we snapped together, ravenous. I arched into him, moving deliberately against him. He had me suspended above the couch as he continued kissing me, free hand running through my wig. Then, he pulled us both upwards to stand, causing our bodies to break contact momentarily and I whimpered a bit. Grinning against my mouth, he frantically moved me backwards, toward the bedroom.

His calloused hands on my body lit my skin on fire through the thin material of the dress. Fiercely, his lips were sealed on mine and we breathed in tandem, dancing a tango with our limbs. I opened my mouth wider for him as he readily explored further.

As we passed through the threshold of the bedroom, his hands traveled up my spine to the zipper of my dress and mine began stripping off the layers of suit that stood between us. I removed my wig, letting my curls free, feeling very much alive. Once we were bare for each other, he lowered me onto the bed and began a slow, meandering path of oscillating kisses and soft bites down my neck, chest, and stomach. The perspiration beginning to build on his forehead and upper lip was cold to my skin.

“I love ye, _mo cridhe_,” I heard him utter.

In answer, I flipped him on his back and gazed at his face from my vantage point. “I love you, too, Jamie.”

And with that, we lost ourselves to the night, hands and limbs unable to get close enough. My body screamed out for him and his for mine. Far away, I briefly registered the howling of a wolf and the pale glow of the moon through our curtains. No more words were needed as we spilled into each other, each other’s names on our lips. A christening of a new Halloween tradition perhaps….

**Author's Note:**

> I recommend giving a listen to "Morticia" from The Addams Family Musical. It's the song that Jamie (horribly, but sweetly) sings to Claire at the end. And it's one of the most perfectly 'Gomez' moments. ;) 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
